


Don't Let me Down.

by AddyPlantagenet



Series: Songs of Ice and Fire [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix It, I'm gonna die mad about the way they butchered these characters i swear to Christ, Jon from Season 7 written into season 8, These white men are dnagerous, We gotta fix this shit, fuck D&D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddyPlantagenet/pseuds/AddyPlantagenet
Summary: Some one shots and multi chapters from either Jon or Daenerys's POV starting from the end of season 7 and picking up in season 8. Some of them will fall in line with events that happen in cannon. Others will be more like what I thought should have happened.





	Don't Let me Down.

_“You have turned on a light_  
And I've lost my sight  
But my heart still remembers the sound  
Of a dream of a love one day found  
You're the dream of a love one day found  
And the freedom from what kept me bound  
And a promise of staying around  
My eyes may not work for me now  
But my heart sure remembers the sound  
So if you saying it  
Please say it loud  
And don't let me down”

_Don’t Let Me Down- Amel Larrieux_

She awoke to the sound of seagulls and cool sheets. Her chambers were still and silent, all evidence of the night’s activities removed. As she slipped out of bed, she noticed her dress and shift laid neatly on a chair, with her boots placed beside it. All his things were gone. She would be forgiven for wondering if she’d dreamt the night before save for the marks on her skin, the deep ache in her muscles and between her thighs. There was a knock on the door as she pulled on her dressing robe, and Missandei entered closing the door behind her gently.

“Good morning your Grace,”

“Good Morning,” she replied, and it’s on the tip of her tongue to inquire after him but she kept her mouth shut. What was a decent period of time to wait before asking after him? He was an ally, she was allowed to be curious, wasn’t she? As she waited for her small bath, her brain kept fashioning reason after reason why he left without saying goodbye. He could be having second thoughts, perhaps he’d only wanted one night, he could be attempting to be discrete. Of course, between the noises he’d had her making throughout the night and the marks he’d left all over her skin, discretion was a bit of a joke. There was no way Missandei hadn’t noticed the abrasions on her skin and the slight bruises on her hips. So far, she’d kept quiet about them.

Every time Dany found a new mark, she remembered how it got there. Images of him above or below her, behind her. The feel of him against her all smooth skin and hard muscle. The roughness of his beard and the almost reverent touch of his hands, even as he moved within her with enough force to steal her breath completely. The pleasure he gave as wholeheartedly as he did everything with his greedy mouth and indefatigable body. Every touch and kiss had seemed to lead to more. He couldn’t stop touching her and she couldn’t stop straining against him, wordlessly begging for him to touch her some more. His voracious kisses made her hands fist in his hair and return them with equal vigor. Every time it seemed that the desperate hunger in them both was slaked, he’d look at her a certain way, or she’d kiss him one time too many and then it would all start over again. She kept staring at her body, her hands, her face in the mirror wondering how she could feel like a different person and look just the same as before. Did he feel the same? Like his body had been claimed and some how made _more._ Gods, what could he be thinking?

“The Northern King is on the upper deck your Grace.” Missandei said, pinning the last braid into place. Dany met her eyes in the mirror and flushed slightly. If her friend had been speaking to her at all she’d heard none of it. “He’s been there since dawn.”

“Has he broken his fast yet?” she heard herself ask.

“No, your grace. He seemed to be very deep in thought.”

She tried to ignore the sickening lurch her stomach made and rubbed her hand over the sudden pressure in her chest. Lately it had been producing the strangest sensations. Was this what love was supposed to feel like? It was excruciating and exhilarating all at once. “Thank you Missandei.” She replied, rising to her feet. Her friend watched her carefully for a moment and then stepped aside with a small smile, before following her out her room.

It didn’t take long to spot him once she’d reached the upper decks. The deep pull inside her at the sight of him was probably something she’d have to grow used to. He seemed like a statue, standing utterly still despite the roiling ocean and the frigid, wind blasted air. The great fur cloak was back, and all those glorious, dark curls were pulled back again in that leather tie. His face was back in that unyielding mask that took in everything and revealed nothing. This wasn’t the man who’d taken her over and over again with greedy, overwhelming ardor and tenderness. This wasn’t the man who’d moaned into her mouth and reveled in her desire and touch. This was the other Jon Snow. The quiet, earnest man who saw overwhelming odds and planted his feet instead of running away. Who served whole heartedly a duty that he seemed reluctant and yet determined to carry out. This man didn’t draw lines, he carved them. This man with cold hands and black fire for eyes had taken over her heart so quickly and so effortlessly that it was almost terrifying. When she’d met him, she’d thought him implacable, slow footed and rude. Then she’d noticed the shrewdness behind his eyes. How for all the things he did say, there were a thousand things he didn’t.

He was almost ridiculously honest, which to her was naïve at best and idiotic at worst. But there was also a kind of deep-seated wisdom, an otherworldly level of courage to his honesty. He didn’t play games, but he watched them carefully. He spoke his truth, watched how others reacted and took his position. But nothing could have prepared her for the storm of emotion that lived inside him. For of all the words she’d have used to describe him, bold, sensual and voracious would never have been on the list. To imagine that she thought she’d known the measure of him when she’d allowed him into her rooms. To imagine that she’d thought she’d known passion before the previous night.

She couldn’t tell if he heard her approach. He didn’t react when she removed the glove from the hand handing at his side. But when she clasped it with her own bare hands, his immediate grip was firm. He knew, even without looking and he wanted her there. Perhaps he’d been waiting for her. “Missandei said that you’d been up here for hours.”

Nothing.

“It was strange waking up alone after last night.”

There was a slight hitch in his breathing, but he kept staring at the sea, his face still in that silent stoic mask. It was maddening but not unexpected. He’d never been particularly good at opening pleasantries.

“Jon, I…” her throat tightened, and her eyes burned with sudden tears. Gods, were her hands shaking? What was the matter with her? “I think I may be falling in love with you.

Then his low rumbling voice came, soft and rough from disuse. “I know I’m in love with you.” Hs eyes still stared straight ahead.

She moved one of her hands from his and curled it around the railing forcing a breath into her now uncomfortably tight chest when he said nothing more. He could have been reporting on troop rotations or a raven from The Citadel. _Is that how such a thing is said? The soup is hot. The soup is cold. I’m tired. I’m in love with you._ “How can you say that so calmly?” she asked.

His answering laugh was sharp and without humor. “Calm? Is that what this is?”

“You seem calm. What are you then?”

His grip on her hand tightened and he took a few deep, tremulous breaths but he didn’t turn to face her. _Maybe he can’t._

“I don’t know.” He whispered.

She glanced down at their joined hands. His icy grip was warming in hers. Maybe in the end there wasn’t much more to say than that. She’d have to grow used to that as well. He wouldn’t write sonnets, but every word he’d give was borne of truth. “There is a strange feeling in me when I think of you, when I’m close to you like I am now.” She traced her fingers over his hand as it gripped hers. It was easier to admit it so their hands, “It’s hard to describe but I think last night made it worse.” Her voice sounded small to her. Weak.

“Like a pressure.” She looked at his profile with renewed interest.

“Yes.”

“As if something is trying to crush you and you can barely breathe. But something’s is inside too, getting bigger, trying to claw it’s way out.”

“Yes.” her eyes were burning again, the very sensation he described leaving her chest aching. “What do you call that?”

“Fear.”

She shut her eyes, feeling the hot tears rolling down her cheeks finally. So he was anxious. Possibly regretful? Did he doubt that she could love him? Or was he worried that somehow, she’d use it against him?

“And hope.”

Her eyes flew open to find his boring into hers at long last. The intensity from the night before clearly visible. This was her Jon. She wanted to lean into him, to feel that solid strength against her again. But that very need kept her a breath away from him clinging to his hand like a frightened child but unwilling to move closer. What did it mean that she needed to do that? She felt pinned by those dragon glass eyes, unable to move or look away. Terrified that he would see how unresolved she was, how lonely, how frightened and raw. And yet somehow hoping that he would, praying to every God there was that he would feel it too.

He turned away again staring at the churning water and dark ominous sky that seemed to express all the things he was unwilling to.

“I could survive losing you. I survived everything else I’ve lost and endured. But I wouldn’t want to. I’d just want this struggle to be over. I’d secure the North for my sisters, for my brother and then come back to Dragonstone and just walk into the sea.”

The image of him dying made the pressure almost painful. Whatever he’d seen in her eyes, the words seemed to be spilling out of him now.

“The cold at the wall gets into your bones, into your heart. I lost so much fighting this war that is seemed to stick. Even when I got back Sansa and Winterfell, even when I was made King, when I finally had the acceptance that I’d always wanted, nothing could shift it. I got that message about Arya and Bran and still… It was like that woman took it all when she…” he broke off and took a convulsive breath his grip tightening again almost reflexively.

“When she brought you back.” She whispered, saying what he seemed unable to say. She could feel his shame, his deep discomfort at the topic. Gods, he could barely even speak of it. The image of the livid, almost fresh scars on his chest had her itching to touch him more fully. “It seems that it was more than Ser Davos getting carried away. He may have even understated. You took a knife a few more places that your heart.”

“Touching you, being with you was the first time I’ve felt warm in years. Inside you, in your bed I felt safe. Despite everything that’s coming, everything I’m risking, that we’re risking. I don’t know what that means. And I don’t know what to do if the answer is what I think it is.”

“I feel the same way too.” Her voice sounded weak and small to her ears. “Before I came here I was afraid that I couldn’t love anyone anymore, not in a way that could let them in. That somehow all that I’d suffered had left me broken inside. I couldn’t be myself because that little girl couldn’t survive the storms. And now…” she faltered and took a breath. _Be brave. Be a dragon._ “Now I feel like I finally can be both. That I can be free with you because you would stand with me as a Queen and keep that little girl safe. If I have that now, how will I bear the cage when someone or something rips you away from me? You’re so stupidly stubborn, and you have no sense of self preservation. I’m convinced you have a death wish.”

His smile was small, but real this time. “Maybe I did. I never seen much of a future for myself. Not a happy one anyway. When you’re raised a bastard they beat that hope right out of you. They never let you forget that you are a mistake, a curse. That you should be grateful for whatever you get because you deserve nothing. That your only purpose is to serve, to pay with your life for the life you somehow stole to be born.” His voice was even, but the hurt, the resentment, the bitterness and shame was there, right under the surface.

“Jon,” his name was a breath on her lips that came unbidden and he looked down at the railing and shook his head, actively trying to swallow back the anger that seemed ready to choke him. Willing her not to push for anything more on the subject. He had never spoken about his life in the North, but somehow with those fervently whispered words she could feel his isolation, his intense loneliness that he’d found a way to dampen with duty. Were these the people he’d risked his life time and again to save? “I don’t know how to do this without you anymore. I don’t know how to be what I have to be without you. I don’t know how to let go.”

“Neither do I.”

“So then what do we do?”

“We could walk away. We can stop this right here. You can’t miss what you don’t know.”

“Can’t you?” she hated that option. And she was almost certain that he wasn’t too thrilled with it either.

“Or.” His grip shifted, lacing their fingers together. Then he lifted them to his lips, pressing an earnest kiss to the back of her hand. That one kiss had her entire body reacting with ice and fire, chills racing over her nerves leaving her feverish in there wake. “We could hold onto each other instead.” Holding her gaze he held their hands against his chest, over the scar she knew was there.

 _Fear and hope indeed. Let it be hope then._ She leaned in, kissed his shoulder through his fur cloak and his leathers, and leaned her forehead against him, breathing him in. _We’ll keep each other safe. We will never be cold or numb or alone again._ She felt him kiss the crown of her head firmly, fervently and then rest his cheek there. That vow was a lot easier to hold on to.


End file.
